


Después la guerra

by CaptainKiran



Category: Sharpe (TV), Sharpe - All Media Types, Sharpe Series - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: (technically napoleonic wars shhh), 1815, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe- It's My Canon NOW Bernard Cornwell, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Married Life, Napoleonic Wars, Peace, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24401242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKiran/pseuds/CaptainKiran
Summary: Words uttered time and time again during the war, now a reality.A quiet winter evening with the Moreno Sharpe's in the year of 1815.
Relationships: Teresa Moreno/Richard Sharpe
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	Después la guerra

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ARW1860](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARW1860/gifts).



The skies outside were grey, frost crystallizing on the glass of the windows, and the branches of their small, bare orange tree tapped against the sill with the winds that gust past. Teresa Moreno shuddered, pulling the bundle of blankets further upwards to cover her nose to ward off the chill that nipped at her, despite the fire that blazed in the hearth not far away.

The day had been long, but the sunlight was not in these winter months. With the chores done and Antonia asleep in her bed, exhaustion had tugged at her and she had lain down on the chaise in their sitting room. She had not even realized she had fallen asleep against the soft pillows, beneath the Portuguese blanket that had long been in their possession- a gift from her to her husband, many winters ago. Mama gato lay curled up at her feet, purring happily.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the latch jiggling, still groggy from her siesta--realizing that the noise had been what had woken her, she receded into her blanket pile as the open door let in a whirl of cold air and snowflakes, biting out a curse in her native tongue before it was quickly closed again.

She blinked against the darkness, and then she saw her husband leaning over her, a flash of white heralding a smile as he looked down at her, cheeks and nose red from the cold outside. The sight alone could warm her, but instead she glowered at him from beneath her blankets.

Snow dusted the shoulders of his greatcoat, his hair somewhat wet beneath the flat cap she had gifted him from their time in Yorkshire, and his gloves shone as he gripped the back of the chaise, leaning over to kiss her nose. Her face scrunched in protest, hat dripping melted snow onto her, and he laughed and mumbled a small apology, before kissing her again.

“Did I wake you?” he said softly, an apologetic smile tugging at the corner of his lips as she nodded her head. “It’s not even  __siesta_ _ time yet, Teresa!”

She could not help the small curl of her lips at the way he said  _ siesta,  _ his thick accent never quite getting it right, but the way her name sounded on his lips was perfect in every way. Even if he  _ was  _ teasing her. “Basta. It is cold! And I am sore and tired.”

“No puedo.” He grinned, and she rolled her eyes as he began to shed his coat, dusting the extra snow as he hung it on the wall by the door. “I don’t mind more nappin’- and you need it.” His boots had already been taken off outside (so as not to risk a berating from her for dragging slush and mud into the house), and he disappeared to grab a log of wood before placing it into the flames. 

He saw her shiver, nudging her legs out of the way as he sat down beside her, gently lifting her legs into his lap as they settled together. “‘sides...I can think of  _ many _ ways of warming you up.” His voice dropped low in his throat, almost as purr as he leaned over to brush his nose against hers, and Teresa could not hide her grin as she leaned forward, with difficulty, to swat his shoulder. 

“You are so bad!” Huffing, she settled back down against the pillows-but the next moment she shrieked, his cold,  _ cold  _ hands on her ankles and she quickly withdrew further into the blankets, glaring at him. “And so  _ cold! _ I should  _ banish  _ you from this seat, bastardo-”

Her chastising was only met with laughter as his hands found her again, slowly warming against her skin- though she was not very warm to begin with. But his hands were strong, firm against her sore, swollen ankles as he began to massage them, drawing them back to his lap, and she settled back down again with a low noise of contentment in her throat. He was, if anything, good with his hands, and knew how to make her aching go away.

“How was your nap?” His voice was quiet, not wanting to disturb Antonia resting in her room as they settled again. “‘M sorry it took me so long to get back.”

“I did not realize I had even taken one until you came home,” she leaned her head back, her eyes slipping closed as she focused on how nice his fingers felt, moving lower to massage her feet. “What kept you?”

“Everyone and their bloody dog was in town today. Thought I’d never get to leave. But what really kept me was this-” he paused, twisting where he sat with a grunt to reach over the back of the chaise, and her eyes lit up to see what he held so delicately in his hand.

The fire cast a warm light on the green blanket, so delicately stitched; her breath hitched in her throat as she reached out to caress the fabric, feeling the soft embroidered leaves that decorated the edge. It was a soft green, not of the  _ rifle green  _ he so loved, but of a pale hue that reminded her of spring. He unfolded it, gently draping it across her, and Teresa smiled so widely that it hurt. “Oh Richard, it’s  _ beautiful!”  _

She beckoned him closer and he obliged, and they shared the warmest of kisses as her hands came to cup his cheeks. “It will look so wonderful, with what you made already…”

“Aye, that’s what I thought,” he chuckled, “which is why I thought it was worth being a little late.” His gaze softened, his hand moving downwards, and he dipped his head to press kiss after kiss on her swollen belly. “You’ll like it, won’t you, little one? How’ve you been for your mama today?”

“Oh,  _ restless,”  _ she huffed, her head leaning back, shooting a small glare at her belly that made her husband laugh. “He wants nothing to do but kick, kick, kick!” 

And almost as if to prove her words, Richard felt the telltale sign of movement beneath his hand, and Teresa could not help the adoration she had for the excitement that lit up his face at catching it in the moment, pressing kisses where he felt movement.

They had never gotten to experience this--well, not  _ together.  _ Their only child, Antonia, had been a surprise for the both of them, and he did not even know of the baby until many months after her birth- but he had never gotten the opportunity to see her like this. To know the joy of seeing the baby grow in her belly, to excitedly count the days and weeks that went by, asking when he could feel, if he could help in any way, and she had only dreamed of his doting, tucked behind those high, dark walls of Badajoz so many years ago. But a dream it was no longer.

She was much more prepared this time, now. She knew her body, and what would happen, but neither of them had expected her to grow so big so fast. Twins, she had teased, with how big and active her belly was, and she could see his face almost pale at the thought! But the midwife had assured her that it was normal. It was simply her body remembering what to do when having a baby.

But Richard was not nearly as prepared, though he tried. Sometimes it drove her mad, him and their daughter treating her as though she were as fragile as glass. She was Teresa Moreno Sharpe,  _ La Aguja,  _ comandante of the partisans of Casatejada, major in the English army, exploring officer on Wellington’s staff,- and yet she was defeated by her family’s pestering and insistence on getting rest. She could hardly be allowed to kneel to pick up something from the floor without Antonia shooing her away, her nimble fingers reaching it before Teresa could work around her large belly, or her husband carrying her to bed despite her protests. Her morning sickness did not help things much, either, though it had passed and she was now six months along. Carrying a baby was not without its toll on her, but she found it hard to let it get her down at how  _ happy  _ it made her and her family. 

Richard seemed happy to dote on her, and though she had longed to protest...she had given in, enjoying his massages, his kisses and love for his family. They had done it; They had their peace now, and they would not trade it for the world.

“You be good for your mama, you hear?” His words were soft but firm as he laid his head gently beside her belly, finger held up to reinforce his order. “She deserves some rest. Carrying you is hard work!”

A warm smile tugged at her lips. “It is. He knows how to tire me out. But I should not be so surprised- Antonia made me nap much, too, when she was not kicking me day and night!”

His nose nuzzled her belly before he tilted his head up, eyes shining softly with the flames, but the words were as soft as the snow outside that whirled above the chimney, so quiet they were almost lost. “You really think it’s a boy?” 

She knew his hesitation, the sadness that hid within his eyes. He had told her one night, long ago, of the pain he kept deep within his heart, that he had not told a soul. Of Grace, and their baby that was not to be, the baby boy he had never seen or held in his arms; of Astrid, with whom he had never had a chance. Tragedy after tragedy...but Antonia had been his first child. His first living, breathing child, who thrived under her parents' care. She had been small, and sickly, but she had outgrown her sickness and was getting bigger every day because she was cared for, provided for and  _ loved.  _

Her face softened, one hand came to cup his scarred cheek, thumb caressing his brow as he leant into it, the other resting above his hand on his belly. She had known, deep down, that Antonia would be a girl, though what made her so sure she could not tell. But a grin spread across her face, eyes crinkling as she nodded her head. “Yes, I know so. Who else but a  _ boy  _ would give me such trouble?”

He blinked for a moment, taking in her words before a loud bark of laughter left him, shimmying upwards to kiss her nose, her lips through their mirth, and Teresa lifted the blankets to let him snuggle next to her beneath them, sharing kisses as they giggled. 

“To think, so many years ago...we were lying in the hay, under this blanket,” he mumbled, picking at a thread on the portuguese blanket in question, “an’ we made love after being apart for so long. And you gave me the best news in the world.” All she could hear was his breathing as she lay against him, a happy sigh leaving his lips. “A baby girl. A daughter.  _ Antonia.” _

She could hear the smile in his voice, “And now look at us. In peace. With a home, our family, together...a little farm, our own land. Growing our own food, and now another baby on the way....I never thought I’d have this.”

She nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck, and he whined at the press of her cold skin, though he did not pull away. She remembered that night in Ciudad Rodrigo, how scared she had been. Scared he would push her away, that he did not want a baby. Did not want to be with her, and how  _ foolish  _ the thoughts, the fears had been! 

“I could never forget,” she breathed, and she told him that; he had known, when she sheepishly admitted that soldiers did not need children. But this soldier  _ did _ , and he pressed a kiss to her temple as she went on. “How scared I was. But I could not be afraid. I had to tell you, for Antonia’s sake. No child of mine would give up on life, and I could not give up either. And now here we are...after the war.”  _ After the war.  _ A statement always left open ended, for many years just a thought, a distant, impossible dream. Seven years of hell and fighting and war and yet they stood through it, came out the other side stronger than ever.

But she shifted, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him, and his brows rose as he looked at her as though she hung the sun in the sky. “Do you remember, Portalegre? When I traveled to Badajoz with you, and we stayed in a billet there?”

He nodded his head, his hand coming to brush through her tangle of long curls, and her free hand came to trace her initials against the warm skin of his chest. “How does it feel?”

His head tilted, brows furrowed as he tried to remember...his thoughts were filled of the way they had made love passionately, their clothes drying by the fire, her head tilted back and the warmth of her as they moved together...and how after he had asked her endless questions about their baby, their daughter, the joy of being a new father…

She drew him from his distracted thoughts, a brow quirked as she spoke- “To be a stranger in a strange land? To be my man, and...how did you say? Depend on me for survival?”

He flushed, remembering the stupid words he had said, and how foolish they were- even at the time he remembered how utterly ridiculous the thought would be to even  _ contemplate.  _ Of course he would stay with her, do anything for her. He never wanted to leave her side, nor she his, and he shook his head, tugging her down for a kiss. “You’ve a mind like a rocket, Teresa.”

She grinned against his lips, settling close, or as close as she could with her belly in the way. He shifted her, knowing how uncomfortable her belly could make her, so that it rested on his and he could take the weight instead. 

“And if you remember  _ that _ , what when we made food by the fire in Ciudad Rodrigo? You asked me what was funny?” He asked. A huff of laughter left her as she nuzzled closer to him, kissing his jaw, though the tone of her voice was already exasperated when she replied  _ ‘yes.’ _ “Thought it was funny to see you stabbing bread with a bayonet. Couldn’t see you as a housewife. Not while you slit throats and rode the hills, an’ fought the french.”

“And now?” 

“Now,” he said, giving her a fond smile as he held her close, “I know just how lucky I am to see you both as a partisan,  _ and _ a housewife.” He would never force her to be anything she did not want to, and they both knew this. If anything he might call himself a househusband, if such a word existed, for they spent just as much time doing the same chores together than they did apart- cooking, cleaning, looking after the animals. He did not force her back into the kitchen, like she thought most men would with their women. It was unorthodox, maybe, for the traditions of both their countries. But they were happy, and they did things their way, and that was all that mattered; it was  _ their  _ life, and no one would take this from them.

“I love you,” she said softly, glancing at him beneath her long lashes, and her eyes held such a warmth in them that the fire before them could hardly compare, “I never thought I could be so happy.” Her curls hung like a dark curtain as she leaned forward to capture his lips with hers, tender and loving and everything right in the world, and she whispered words of adoration between breaths, “My soldier. My farmer. My husband.”

“And I love  _ you.  _ My partisan, my wife.” How good they tasted, both the words falling from his lips and her own against his, and he held her close, eyes slipping closed as they explored one another. Those moments in the billets and the barns seemed long ago now, another lifetime as they lie there in their little farmhouse, tucked away in the quiet countryside of a peaceful Spain. 

After the war had come. He had his wife, his daughter, and a growing family, kicking gently beneath his palm, and Richard and Teresa smiled widely against each others lips, tucked beneath the piles of blankets. 

They had made it. Peace was here. And they would not trade it for anything in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my dearest Sam, as always, inspired by the fun times we've had playing Stardew Valley and recreating the Moreno Sharpe farm. We'll need to do that again sometime :)
> 
> I was encouraged by Sam and phoenixflames12 to post some more fics I've had on my computer for ages. I have so many, but I'll slowly get to posting and finishing them. I truly love this fandom and these characters and I will definitely be filling this tag in more- it'd be a shame to just keep all my fics to just Sam and I. Originally written December 2019.


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